


Lull

by missmichellebelle



Category: Glee
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Reaction, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-12-14 15:47:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmichellebelle/pseuds/missmichellebelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“…I can talk to you until you fall asleep. I don’t like walking home this late by myself, anyway.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lull

**Author's Note:**

> Reaction to 4x13, Diva.

It’s nighttime when Blaine wakes up again, his head feeling heavy and foggy and his tongue too big for his mouth. He’s sweaty and uncomfortable, and he realizes he fell asleep in his clothes somehow (why is his shirt undone?)—he blinks around blearily, glancing at the clock on his bedside table. It’s late, and Blaine knows he needs to change, or at least undress. He groans, trying to lift his head, when he hears a loud buzzing noise. For a second, he thinks it might be the pounding in his head, but then he sees his phone skittering around, lit up, and it occurs to Blaine that his phone vibrating is what woke him up.

His fingers fumble with it as he tries to grab it, feeling swollen and ungainly, and his eyebrows furrow with frustration until it’s secured in his grasp. It’s dark, and the screen is too bright, so it takes Blaine’s eyes a few seconds before the image registers.

Kurt’s face is staring at him, bright and happy, caught right between a smile and a laugh. Blaine looks at it a little too long, and then the screen fades to black—missed call. No, wait.  _Two_. His finger slips to unlock the screen, and—yeah, Kurt has called him twice. He frowns at the fact that he missed it, going to call him back, when the screen lights up again.

_Incoming Call Kurt Hummel_

It takes longer than it should for Blaine to answer the call—either because his head is still too muggy, or his hands are shaking with excitement, Blaine isn’t sure.

“Hello?” He croaks—voice not only wrong from disuse, but scratchy from his sore throat.

“Blaine!” Kurt’s voice is bright and loud, full of enthusiasm and excitement, and Blaine can hear the loud sounds of New York through the line of the phone. “I won!” Kurt’s yelling a little bit, whether because he’s so excited or because it’s so loud, Blaine doesn’t know. He’s about to ask—he’s sure he knows, can’t remember right now, why does he  _take_  cold medicine?—when Kurt says, “I beat Rachel at Midnight Madness!”

Oh.  _Oh_.

“Oh!” Blaine says out loud, and he feels the pull at his chest and throat, rubbing against it (really, his shirt is unbuttoned, how did that happen?) and fighting the cough that tries to scratch out. “ _Kurt—_ ” Because Blaine doesn’t know how to put the pride he feels blooming into words. “Kurt, that’s—that’s great.” It’s  _fantastic_.

“There—there was a vote, and I won!  _Blaine!_ ” Kurt laughs—so,  _so_  happy and bright, and it makes Blaine’s cheeks ache with how much he’s smiling.

“Of course you did,” he says, voice soft, and then winces—soft, loud, normal, his chest _aches_  with needing to let out his cough no matter how he speaks. “Of course you—” and it comes, the cough, too hard and too much, clenching painfully, and Blaine tries his best to muffle it in his pillow.

“Blaine?” Kurt’s excitement falters, his voice still breathless the way it gets when he _does_  something, really does something, something he wanted to do but didn’t believe in himself enough to do. Blaine’s heard it before. Not as much as he’d like, but enough times that it makes him close his eyes and remember how open Kurt must look right now. He must be alone, then, and that makes Blaine’s chest tight. Went somewhere alone, holding his victory behind his face and then letting it out—letting it out to  _Blaine_ , of all people.

 _You’re my best friend_.

“I’m here,” Blaine says, not really understanding why, and Kurt makes a noise in his throat.

“I know,” Kurt responds, his voice dipping lower, the excitement dimming and being replaced with something else. “Are you okay?” Kurt’s voice drops, quiet now, almost soothing, and Blaine closes his eyes, lets his head sink in the pillow.

“Yeah, I’m—” he swallows thickly. “I’m fine.”

“ _Blaine_ ,” Kurt admonishes. “You really think I don’t know when you’re sick?”

“My acting skills are that bad, huh?” Blaine jokes, feebly, and Kurt makes a disapproving noise. He’s moving now, Blaine can hear the measured sound of his breathing. Blaine pretends it’s  _here_ , that he’s moments away from pressing his ear to Kurt’s heart.

“You sound awful.”

“Thanks,” Blaine replies, dryly, and Kurt huffs a laugh.

“Did I wake you up?” Kurt’s voice turns up, worried. “I’m sorry, I just—”

“No, no, I’m glad you called, I’m—I’m so happy for you.” Blaine is just  _happy_. Despite the phlegm and the sniffling and the throbbing headache and the soreness in his throat and the pain in his chest, Blaine is happy.

“Thank you,” Kurt says, soft and full of meaning, and Blaine smiles softly. “You should go back to sleep.”

“No, no.” Blaine struggles to open his eyes, sit up,  _prove_  that he’s okay even with Kurt’s eyes so far away and unable to see him.

“ _Blaine_.”

“Really, m’fine.”

“You’re so stubborn,” Kurt scoffs, and Blaine can just him rolling his eyes. “If you want to talk to me, you can just say so you know.”

Blaine pouts, his silence enough of an answer.

“…I can talk to you until you fall asleep. I don’t like walking home this late by myself, anyway.”

Blaine doesn’t like it either, when Kurt’s by himself in the city. Not that Kurt couldn’t stand up for himself, he’s stronger than he looks, but… Well, Blaine worries. He worries more than he should.

 _You’re my best friend_.

“I’d like that,” Blaine hums quietly, and he shifts to take off his shirt the rest of the way. It should feel weird, being on the phone with Kurt as he shucks his clothing and socks onto the floor, but Blaine is too tired to think about it.

“All nice and comfy?” Kurt teases, and Blaine doesn’t even register it really—he hums, pleasantly, turning his head so that his phone can rest on his cheek and ear. His chest tenses again, and he coughs into the pillow, rubbing his chest and squeezing his eyes tight. Kurt coos, soft and not patronizing. It settles warm and wonderful—the sound of Kurt caring, wanting to be there for Blaine as he falls asleep.

Blaine wishes he were.

He opens his eyes, heavy, reluctant, and focuses on the pictures of Kurt that decorate his nightstand. He fights sleep, listening to the soft, gentle lull of Kurt’s voice—high, low, excited sometimes, or slow and steady, and Blaine keeps his eyes open for as long as possible.

_You’re my best friend._

_And I love you with all my heart._


End file.
